


you were someone, once

by sunkelles



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Implications of sexual abuse, Loss of Identity, POV Second Person, Rated T for torture, Winter Blueberry AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know you were a person instead of a weapon, a someone instead of a nothing." </p><p>winter blueberry au</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were someone, once

**Author's Note:**

> please please for the love of god don't think of this as canon for anyone else's work in this au. i just saw the angst pit and jumped right in with my weird, minimalist style, second person character studies, and love of emotionally and physically torturing characters. this is not the backstory for anyone else's winter blueberry. 
> 
> even though it's not the same, you should definitely read everyone else's stuff though! it focuses on platonic relationships, and the healing process. it's still very angsty, but in a different way. it's super great and i love it :) 
> 
> warnings: non-graphic descriptions of torture, implications of sexual assault, loss of identity (all that winter soldier goodness), and angst all around.

The world is blurry, or black at best when you are not on a mission. They don't like for you to be aware of your surroundings when you are not hunting down a target, because then you are allowed time to think. 

 

 

Weapons should not think. They should not have ghosts of memories they cannot quite reach, and they should not wonder who they once were. 

 

 

You know, whether or not they want you to, that you once had a name. You know you were a person instead of a weapon, a someone instead of a nothing. You like to think that at some point, someone cared for the person you were. You know that you were something before this, but you can't remember what. The last time that you tried, the Seventh Sister shoved her lightsaber through your left hand. A scorching pain spread through the limb, and you howled in pain while she laughed. 

 

"You're pretty, soldier," she said, and she caressed your cheek as your hand burned and bled, "but you don't need all your limbs to stay that way." She groped your thigh, and you were almost unaware of the unpleasant sensation because of the sheer burning of the hole left in your hand. 

 

"Next time it'll be your leg," she promised with a flirty smile. 

 

They cut off that hand replace it with a metal one. The inquisitors have access to fake skin, you know that they do, but they don't bother using it on you. You are just a soldier, and you are bound to get scars. The empire seems to prefer it that way. They don't care how much the inquisitors break you, as long as you remain alive. 

 

As long as you can kill for them, the empire has use for you yet. 

 

 

 

You never have long to think in between the missions and the black outs, and the blurry feelings you get when an inquisitor finally sticks a needle in your arm when they're through with you. At least you get to rest then.

 

The orders, the searing pain in your head, the fear of punishment, for a while it all stops. You think, for a moment, this might be the time when they finally leave you be. They've tired of you, or perhaps you've died. 

 

That is never the case. You are always awakened, abruptly, by an inquisitor. They give you your mission, and throw you around before you go, maybe add a scar to the constellations on your back. 

 

They all seem to enjoy it, using you like a chew toy. They call each other sisters and brothers. You vaguely know what those words mean, feel shadows of emotions for people you might have known, but you know those words mean _family._ You've still got a concept of the word. 

 

If they inquisitors are a family, then you're the loth-cat they picked up off the streets to "play" with and torture and then set loose on neighbors they don't like. 

 

A loth-cat, a loth-rat, the words feel familiar to you, but you don't know why. Fractals of memories, fleeing before you even see them, disappearing before you notice they were there. 

 

 

 

This time, when you awaken, the Seventh Sister is there with her predator's smile and her wandering hands. Seven is your least favorite inquisitor, and that is saying something. At best, you feel nothing towards them, and at worst, you would like to choke the life out of them the way you do to your targets. 

 

You would like to choke the life out of her, but only after you carve her up with a lightsaber first. She laughs as you come to, and shoves you roughly against the wall with the force. Then, she pushes you against it with her limbs. She pins your hands, metal and flesh, above your head, and grins as she meets your eyes. 

 

"I can feel that, soldier," she says. You don't say anything, don't even dare to say "sorry ma'am." That might placate some of the others, but Seven does not appreciate apologizes. She will make you suffer more for them. 

 

"You want to kill me so badly, soldier, but you're too afraid to do it," she says breathlessly, and you consider it. You wriggle desperately in her grasp, and she laughs at you again. You remember her threat to decimate your leg, and wonder, idly if it's real, if she would really do it. You're not sure how much you care, and the way you flail around becomes even fiercer. 

 

"We've made you a feral thing, soldier," she says, and she sounds amused, pleased even. She lets go of your hands, but keeps you pinned with the force. She draws her saber. She grins, and her amber eyes take on a red glow from her lightsaber.

 

"The threat still stands," she says. 

 

"What is the mission?" you growl. You are tired of being played with. You want to get your mission and get on with it. The sooner your target is dead the sooner you can finally return to the blackness, maybe for good.

 

"Your target's name is Kanan Jarrus," she says, and for a moment, she looks at you in excited anticipation, like a demolition specialist waiting to watch her art unfold. She seems to think this name will get some sort of reaction from you. 

 

"Who is Jarrus?" you ask. You know you need to give her some sort of reaction, or there will be consequences to pay. You've learned from experience that Seven hates nothing more than being ignored. Most of your targets are rebel sympathizers in the senate, powerful members of planetary governments, anyone the empire views as a threat. They give you a name and shove a file of information at you, and expect them dead. The longer you take, the worse it will be for you. You want the damn file and you want to get this over with. 

 

"You don't know?" She asks, sounding a little bit surprised but mainly curious, almost pleased. You don't know how she expects you to know who this man is. The Inquisitorius doesn't give you any information you don't need for an assignment. You know nothing of this man who she seems to fear. Unless of course she's implying- you shove the thought back into the darkest corners of your mind. You can't even consider that. You have a job to do. 

 

"He's a rogue Jedi who survived the purge. He's a rebel now," she says, finally letting you fall off of the wall. Your neck hurts, but you don't dare do anything about it. You don't want her to know how easily she can still hurt you. 

 

"He's got a whole crew, a Twi'lek, a Mandalorian and a Lasat," she says, a fierce grin on her face, "and preferably, you will kill each and every one of them." _Preferably_ meansthey'llcount the mission as incomplete, a _failure_ a voice whispers in the back of his mind,  if you don't. It means pain and reconditioning, and maybe even a visit from Lord Vader. You feel shivers crawl up your spine. You nod your head. You try not to wonder why the empire so desperately wants all of them dead. You try to force away the half memories you could feel clawing at the surface when she listed off the crew members. She slides the file out of her backpack and slides it into your hands. 

 

Seven grins at you and says, "Best of luck killing them, soldier." She blows you a kiss, and you try not to shake on the spot as you clutch the file. Seven never leaves you alone. She likes fucking with your head more than any of the rest of them, but you could almost swear-  no you _can't_. You can't even consider the possibility. She was just being sadistic. You didn't know this _Kanan_ , or any of the rest of them for that matter. But you suppose it wouldn't matter if you did. You will never be whatever you were again. You are their soldier now, the empire's weapon, the inquisitors' _rabid_ loth-cat, and you will follow orders. 

 

 

Everything is so much easier when you do. 


End file.
